Uneven
by shannonann
Summary: "...nothing in her life ever matched up. Never had, never will. She was a sporadic and racing heartbeat in a world of slow and even footsteps." My continuation of iOMG :   multi-chapter
1. Perfection

**HOW AMAZING WAS iOMG? YOU GUYS...I CAN'T EVEN. I CANNOT EVEN. LOL  
>but seriously, I adored it. So perfectly done. :) Bravo, Dan Schneider, BRAVO. I am dying waiting for the new episodes to start...my best friend &amp; I are already planning a premiere party! HA! <strong>

**This is my own continuation...my little version of what could happen next. :)  
>I hope you enjoy...I would love to hear some feedback!<br>Now, here we go...**

* * *

><p>Her feet hit the ground over and over in an even rhythm; <em>left, right, left, right<em>. It was odd, the way it contrasted with her heart: slow and even versus racing and sporadic. She couldn't help but think of how much the contrast seemed to fit her: nothing in her life ever matched up. Never had, never will. She was a sporadic and racing heartbeat in a world of slow and even footsteps.

She kept running, legs screaming in pain, until she reached the graffiti-covered stop sign that marked her street; a mile and a half away from the school, she figured she was safe. She put one hand on the pole and the other on her knee, leaning over because her lungs burned with every intake of air. '_It's not fair'_ is all she could think. Why couldn't she be different? Why couldn't he be different? Why were they themselves? Why was he so slow and even, while she was much too fast and unpredictable? _It's not fair._

"Hey," was the half-hearted greeting she got from her mother as she walked through the front door.

"Hey," Sam said back, moving quickly toward the stairs in an attempt to avoid confrontation. She glanced at her mom from the corner of her eye and saw her completely engrossed in some trashy reality dating show, one hand gripping a can of beer, the other buried in a bowl of popcorn on her lap. Of course she was still up.

"Mom?" she heard herself say, turning to face her. She didn't know why she had said it. It just came out. She needed some kind of acknowledgement, some kind of reassurance. Of what? She didn't know. She just needed something. "Momma?"

But she was too quiet and the television was too loud. Her mom let out a loud laugh at something that had just happened between two women clad in trashy lingerie. She swallowed the lump in her throat, but it came back just as quickly as it had left. And then she could feel it. It took up her entire throat, making it difficult to breathe, and she knew she couldn't hold it in for much longer. It was gonna be big and loud and mean. She bit her tongue, trying to hold it in, but it came out all on its own: "Mom!" she yelled this time and her mother whipped her head around to face her.

"What?"

"Why-why aren't you mad?"

Her mother set the popcorn bowl aside, placed the beer on the coffee table, and slowly stood up. "Sam…"

"_Normal_ parents get mad at their _normal_ kids when they just waltz through the door at 3 in the morning! But, no, of course you're totally cool with it!" She didn't know where all of this was coming from, but she couldn't stop it. "I could have been dead in a ditch somewhere and you wouldn't have even known! Why aren't you mad? You don't even care!" A sob escaped and she smacked her hand over her mouth.

"Sam…antha…" her mother's face was horrified as she shook her head back and forth. "Kid, what's wrong with you?"

"Why aren't we normal?" Tears were flowing down her face now and she felt her cheeks burn red with embarrassment. She didn't cry, she was a Puckett. And yet, here she was, standing in front of the very woman who had taught her that crying was for wimps and fairies only, bawling like a kid who just fallen off of her bike. The tears ran into her mouth and she hated the saltiness on her tongue.

"Listen, kid…" her mother took a step in her direction and she took off up the stairs.

But she didn't listen. She didn't listen to hear if her mom called after her or not, she just slammed the bathroom door behind her, locked it, and turned the shower on as high as it would go. She slid the handle over until it reached the bottom of the red sticker and steam began to fill the tiny room. The mirror fogged up and she couldn't see herself; good. That was the way she wanted it. The hot water burned her shoulders but she stood perfectly still and let it. 45 minutes later, when the hot water was starting to run out, she opened her mouth and let it fill up with lukewarm water. When it was a full as possible, she closed her mouth and swished it around. She swished hard and fast, tilting her head from side to side, shoving the water into every crack and cranny of her teeth. When she was satisfied, she spit the water out onto the bathtub floor, bitterly, like it was poisonous. She drug the back of her hand across her lips, then spat again. She turned the water off and, for a split second, was in awe of the silence that hit. She listened for her mom, but heard nothing.

Ten minutes later, sitting cross-legged on her bed in a purple tank-top and gray shorts, she heard a knock on her bedroom door. She collapsed down in an effort to avoid it, legs still crossed, but face buried in her polka dot comforter. She gave the knock no response, but she heard the door handle begin to turn anyway. She heard the television blaring from downstairs as the door swung all the way open and her heart sped up once again. She felt weight on the bed next to her, but she didn't look up. Soon, a hand was on her back, moving slowly up and down.

"Want to tell me what your deal is?" her mother spoke quietly, which was not normal for her. "What happened tonight, kid? You were at that…that lock-in thing, right? What happened?"

Sam took in a shaky breath as she felt a sting behind her eyelids. She shook her head back and forth furiously against the blanket, praying her mother wouldn't notice her shaky tear-filled breathing, but she did. Her hand stopped moving on Sam's back and she spoke even more quietly than before.

"Sam…come on, kid, sit up." She tugged on her daughter's arm, but Sam resisted.

"No!" her voice sounded weak and small, but it still had the normal Puckett level of sass.

"Hey, I've already seen you cry, okay? You cried constantly when you were a baby…I swear, I thought you were just gonna cry until you ran out of tears." She laughed, but Sam didn't. "I've seen you cry, believe you me. Come to think of it, I've also seen your naked butt! You used to run around with your little pink underwear on your head—"

Sam sat up, her hair sticking to her wet face, bitter that her mom had just pointed out another freakish trait she had. "Mom!"

"Hey, got you to sit up, didn't I?" Sam's mother swung an arm around her shoulder and she rolled her eyes at the fact that she had outsmarted her. "Now, what's up?"

She locked her eyes on her hands, where she was picking at what was left of her metallic purple nail polish. Even that wasn't normal. Most girls had pink nails, red even. But, of course, she had to have purple. She could never just fit in.

"I like…a boy."

"A boy?" her mother sounded terribly excited. "Well, who is it? I mean, the only boys I ever see you with are Nerd Boy & that funny looking kid…what's his name, Gabby? No, that's a girl's name…"

"Gibby, Mom, Gibby. And I _don't_ like Gibby."

"Well then, who?"

She looked at her mother like she was crazy. She had just said it and didn't even realize it.

Her mouth formed an 'o' as she finally registered that "Nerd Boy" was the only other option. "I thought you hated him!"

"I…did."

Her mother giggled and Sam collapsed back onto the bed. As soon as she did, the laughter subsided. "Sam…I thought he was a nice kid…did he make you cry? Oh, hon."

"No! He didn't. I did." Her voice was muffled, but her mother heard perfectly.

"How did you make yourself cry?" she tried to move some of Sam's hair out of the way, but she shook it back into place, shielding her face from her mother's inquisitive eyes.

"He doesn't like me, okay? And I knew that, I did, so I don't know why I did it!" She sat up and took another shaky breath.

"Did what, Sam?"

"I'm just stupid and…why would I do that? Gah…I ruined everything, you know?"

"How do you know he doesn't like you? Did he tell you that?" she brushed Sam's hair away from her face.

"No! He's not just gonna say it."

"And why not?"

"Because he's too nice." She leaned back against the headboard and crossed her arms. "He's like thirty times nicer than me."

"Listen to me, kid, I think there's a perfectly good chance that he likes you, too!" she leaned back and scooted closer to Sam, who just shook her head.

"Why wouldn't he?" her mother's voice was quiet again.

"Because people don't," her voice sounded small and she hated it. "People don't _like me_."

"Wellll," her mom drew the word out for much too long and she grew nervous, thinking that she would just agree with what Sam had just said. "That's ridiculous. I don't know why they wouldn't love you!"

She bit her lip to keep the 4 round of tears from spilling over. She hated those tears with every fiber of her being. She hated them because they made her look weak, and because they made her hair stick to her face, and because they tasted salty and gross when they ran down into her mouth. But most of all, she hated them because she knew why they were there.

"Samantha Puckett, you are so funny. You are so funny, and so fun, and you can make anyone laugh. You have the best sense of humor and you're the smartest person I know."

Sam scoffed, "You don't know many people."

"Hey!" her mother elbowed her. "And you pretend to be so mean, and tough, and unfeeling, but you have one of the biggest, softest hearts I've ever seen. You're the sweetest kid around, underneath all of that stuff."

She didn't scoff, but she didn't agree. She didn't want to picture herself with such a weak, soft, breakable heart. But, at the moment, she couldn't deny it.

"And Sam, you're gorgeous, kid. Seriously, where did you get these good looks?" She grabbed Sam's chin and shook it back and forth.

Sam laughed for the first time that night and pushed her hand away.

"You are perfection, kid. And if Nerd Boy doesn't like you, then he's not as smart as I thought he was."

"Yeah well, you're my mom. You have to say that. It's like, your job or something."

"Yeah well, you and I both know I'm not a good enough mom to say something just because I have to."

They both laughed and she was tempted to agree before she realized how much better she felt. "Yeah you are."

Her mom planted a kiss on the top of her head before standing up and smacking her on the back. "It's late, kid. Bedtime is now."

"Mom," she stopped short of the door and turned to face Sam again. "Thanks. I mean, you know. I love you. And stuff."

Her mom smirked and winked before turning out the light. "Ditto," she said over her shoulder as she left.

She laid down and closed her eyes. Her heart started to ache for a split second, until she willed herself to focus on nothing but the black behind her eyelids, but she couldn't even do that. The weird splotches of color that play whenever you close your eyes blocked her from focusing on the black and soon she opened her eyes again. But with her eyes open, she couldn't pretend that she didn't exist and all the events of the last 24 hours were just a bad dream, which she desperately wanted to do. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and coordinated her heartbeats with her breathing: 3 beats of breathing in, 3 beats of breathing out. For once, she could make something match up. Maybe there was hope for her yet.


	2. Disillusion

**Thank you all so much for your sweet, sweet review! I absolutely loved reading them!**  
><strong>I am so glad that you guys liked it &amp; I SO hope that you like what's to come! :) <strong>

**This section is from Freddie's POV. He seemed kinda spacey after the kiss, like he didn't fully understand what was going on,**  
><strong>so that's the way I wrote him here. ;) I mean, who wouldn't be in shock after being kissed by your worst enemy? HA. <strong>

**As always, I would love, love, love some feedback on this! :D**

* * *

><p>What had she just said? He couldn't remember. He hadn't been listening. All he had been focusing on was finding his way to the stoop, where his blonde friend had just been sitting, to sit there himself. His hands shook as he felt around blindly for the object she had been holding. His left hand closed tightly around it and he brought it into his lap. He stared at it for a few seconds, trying to remember the name of the object. Water bottle? Yeah, that was it.<p>

"Huh?" he said, finally shifting his attention to the brunette standing in front of him, looking at him like he was some sort of lunatic.

"I said, what just happened? Sam…Sam hates you! Right? And you…you hate her! Right, Freddie? Right?"

"Uh…yeah."

Carly sat down in front of him, one hand on his knee. "That didn't sound very convincing."

"What didn't sound very convincing?" he blinked twice, amazed at his inability to retain anything she was saying.

"Freddie…" Carly was slowly developing a smirk and Freddie couldn't remember why. Honestly, he couldn't remember anything. Wait…where was Sam? Had she left? Did Carly know? Should he ask? No, he decided, he would just look crazy if he asked…she had to have left, where else could she be?

"Freddie….do you like Sam?"

"Do I…pssh, no! I mean…Sam….I mean, what?"

"Oh my gosh, you do!" she stood up and pointed a finger at him. "You _like_ Sam! Why didn't you tell me? Freddie!"

He could barely make sense of the words his best friend was shouting at him. Did he? Did he _like_ Sam? There was no way! It was insane…the two of them didn't fit. At all. She was a demon and he was a tech geek. They couldn't work. They wouldn't work. He couldn't like her, he…he just couldn't. It would be breaking like, a million unspoken rules of the universe.

He liked kissing her, he knew that. But that was nothing new: he'd liked kissing her since the first time it happened, on his fire escape. First kiss or not, he could tell that she was good at it. He'd remembered thinking that if kissing was like that all the time, then he wanted to do it a lot more. Man, that seemed like a trillion years ago now. Everything seemed like a trillion years ago now. What time was it? He had no idea.

But liking kissing a person and actually liking the person themselves…that's two completely different things, right? He had liked Carly that week they were together. He liked _her_, but kissing her…not so much. She wasn't half as good at it as Sam. But he'd overlooked it because of _her_. But with Sam, it was the opposite…right?

Carly was looking at him expectantly and he wondered how long it had been since he had spoken. A few seconds? Minutes? Hours? Had she asked him another question that he was supposed to answer? Wait, where was Sam?

He had never even considered the possibility of liking Sam because he had never considered the possibility of Sam liking him. It had never even been an option! She hated him and picked on him relentlessly. But then, she denied it! She denied hating him when he had confronted her about it. _I never said I hate you…w_hich was completely preposterous because she had to have said she hated him at least once a day since they met! He had never doubted the state of him & Sam's relationship until now. She had to hate him…but she kissed him. Why? You only kiss people that you like. Maybe she did like him. Maybe that's what had just happened. Maybe, the girl who had made his life miserable for the past 6 years _liked_ him. Maybe she loved him….Sweet, Holy Lord. That's what the app said: LOVE. She loved him? No, no, no.

He felt Carly's hand tug at his sleeve, just below his shoulder. He ignored the gesture. It was easier than trying to focus on her. Did she say something? His name, maybe? He couldn't tell.

But it was all starting to come together for him and make more sense than it had before. How could she have been in love with Brad? She'd known him, what, a week? Maybe a week and a half? There was no way she could be in love with him that quickly. But Freddie, she'd known him for years. They knew pretty much everything there was to know about each other because, no matter how much they hated to admit it, they were pretty great friends. In some weird, twisted way, her being in love with him made some sort of sick sense. Some part of his brain, hidden deep in the back, that was usually silent, suddenly spoke up and said that it wasn't surprised at all. Duh. Part of him was beginning to reconcile the thought, but part of him still rejected it out of shock.

Sam loved him? Samantha Puckett, bully extraordinaire? His Sam?

Wait, "_his_ Sam?" What was _that_? What did that even mean, "_his_ Sam?" She wasn't his…she was…she was just Sam!

"Freddie!" Carly's voice was high and loud, bringing him back to reality. "Are you okay?"

He didn't know how to answer her question. "Where's Sam?" he asked, standing up.

She looked exasperated. "Where's…? Freddie, Sam left. Like, 20 minutes ago. She took off." She shoved her hands into her pockets with guilt on her face. "One of us should probably go after her…"

"Oh, yeah." Slowly, he was regaining brain function and he started to remember the finer details of what had just happened to him. "Well, I should go. Yeah, I'm gonna go home." He began to walk toward the parking lot before Carly's voice called out to him yet again.

"Freddie, what about your project?"

"Um, tell Brad we'll finish it on Monday, alright? Tell him…tell him I got sick and had to leave. I'll text him, okay?"

Carly's face fell into a worried frown. "Okay. Yeah, I'll tell him."

But he barely heard her. He was already walking.

His apartment was dark and he tried to match the silence around him as he turned his key, opened the door, then shut it again behind him. The tumblers turning with his key seemed like a stampede of elephants and the door closing sounded like a firecracker going off; he wasn't sure if it was his inability to process anything correctly since Sam kissed him, or if everything was really as loud as he thought it was, but he was sure it would wake his mother. He stood at the door for what seemed like an eternity, formulating ways of calming her down, but she never came. He slipped his shoes off and tiptoed toward the hallway.

His hand reached out for the handle on his bedroom door when it happened. A loud screech rang out, probably even louder than normal due to his current state, and a large stick of some sort collided with his back. He fell forward, hitting the door with his forehead before sliding down it, landing on his knees on the floor. The hallway light was suddenly on, causing him to throw a hand up, shielding his eyes from being blinded by the lack of time to adjust.

"Aughh," he groaned in pain, his head and shoulder blades throbbing.

And then there were more screams, this time less aggressive. He looked up to see his mother in a pink and white nightgown, brandishing a golf-club. She quickly tossed it to the side and collapsed down next to him.

"Fredward, are you hurt? Oh my baby, I'm so sorry! I thought you were a…a…a prowler! Mommy is so sorry, Freddikins!" She frantically smoothed his hair and rubbed his back. "Freddie?"

"Since when do we own a golf-club?" he blinked at her.

She looked at him like he was insane for a moment and he knew that he was still having trouble focusing on anything but Sam. "Never mind, baby! Are you hurt?"

"No, no," he began to push himself up off of the floor and his mother followed, supporting him by holding onto his elbow. "I'm fine, really. I just want to go to bed. A lot." He opened his bedroom door and stomped in, his overprotective mother trailing him all the while.

"Oh, Freddie…" she sighed, smoothing his hair once again as he leaned over to grab pajamas from a dresser drawer. "Are you okay, honey? You look pale…and worried…what happened? Is it your project? Wait, shouldn't you still be at the school? Why are you here?"

"Mom, I'm fine, I swear. I'm just…tired is all, okay? I skipped out early because…I was tired. And you are too, it's crazy late!" he shooed her hands away and put his own on her shoulder. "Go back to bed, okay? I'll see you in the morning."

"Freddie, what's wrong? You look so concerned! What about, baby?"

"Nothing, Mom! It's nothing, I promise, okay? I'll…I'll tell you later."

"Oh, okay…I love you!" her smile was strained as she headed for the door.

"I love you too, Mom," his smile was equally strained as he shut it behind her.

With a loud and long sigh, he rested his forehead on the door and felt a twinge of pain at the bruise that was, no doubt, already forming. _Great. Sam will give me hell for a bruise in the middle of my—_he caught himself and gasped out loud before the thought went any further.

Normally, of course, Sam would give him _a whole lot_ of hell for a bruise in the middle of his forehead; it was prime torture material, but…would she now? For the life of him, he didn't know. She was his best friend and suddenly he felt like he didn't know her at all. He didn't know where they stood, what the kiss had started or ended. Did it mean she wouldn't torture him any longer? To his surprise, he found himself hoping that the torturing wouldn't cease; it would just be too weird. He was used to her hating him…but, now that she didn't hate him, what would happen? _Oh man… _He just wanted to sleep.

He laid on his back only to immediately sit up. His shoulders were still in pain from the golf-club smack and the pressure of a box-spring mattress on them felt less-than-pleasant. He rolled over onto his stomach, letting an arm hang over the side of the bed. He was silent, not even breathing, while he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness enveloping him.

Once he finally closed his eyes, his brain wasted no time in shutting off. He struggled to hold on for as long as he could, replaying the night's events on the black insides of his eyelids. It all seemed so surreal and, for a split second, he wondered if he had made it all up in his head in some kind of bizarre day dream. But his lips tingled slightly, as if to assure him that it had actually happened, and he knew that it had. Samantha Puckett had kissed him, inadvertently admitting her love for him via PearPad app. What a trip. Something like this could only happen to me, he thought. Then he couldn't fight it any longer and felt himself round that last corner before sleep…

He should probably talk to her about it. Yeah, that would be good. When would be the next time he'd see Sam? Monday, right? Yeah, Monday. School, right? Probably. He would talk to her then. Monday…yeah, he'd see her Monday. Good, ole' Sam.


	3. Cowardice

Monday morning always comes too quickly, if you asked her, but this Monday seemed to come especially fast. Her alarm clock blaring jolted her out of a dead sleep and her stomach immediately turned at the thought of another week of school. She groaned out loud and flared her arm blindly in search of the snooze button. By some miracle, she found it and silence enveloped her once again.

_Ugh, stupid school. I don't wanna go. I don't wanna see those stupid teachers or my stupid locker….great, I think I had science homework that I __**didn't**__ do. Maybe Carly or Benson will—_

And her eyes were open. For the first time that weekend, she had forgotten. She had forgotten about what she did, that everything was going to be different now. She had forgotten that the thought of looking him in the eyes was now her biggest fear.

She sat upright, the blanket falling down off of her and exposing her shoulders to the freezing air of her bedroom. Why was it so cold? It was April, shouldn't it be warm? She pulled the blanket up back over her head, blocking out the light coming through the gap in her curtains, and curled up as tightly as she could. She stayed there, motionless, until her "snooze" time ran out and the alarm clock went off yet again. She didn't turn it off, she just let it blare. _I should ditch_, she thought_. Nobody would notice, I mean, I hardly go anyway._ She had almost decided to follow through with her plan, fully confident that she could get away with it, until she remembered Carly's eyes through the window, wide with shock. She had seen. Sam had half expected her to show up at her house over the weekend, but she wasn't entirely surprised that Carly was giving her some space….Sam was quite explosive when she wanted to be, no one knew that better than Carly. School, however, would be a whole different ballgame. Either she would go there, or Carly would come to her. There was no choice.

She got up, got dressed, did all of the good primpy-stuff girls do in the bathroom, and looked in the mirror.

Was she pretty? She didn't know, she couldn't tell. Carly was pretty, obviously. Practically every boy in school had a crush on her. Freddie did. Her stomach turned. Carly was pretty, but she was pretty much the exact opposite of Carly: the blonde to her brunette, the short to her tall, tomboy to her girly-ness. Did that make her not pretty? No one had ever told her she was pretty. Well, Gibby might have mentioned her being pretty a few times back in grade school, but that _definitely_ didn't count. She didn't exactly consider Gibby to be the authority of what's attractive and what's not.

She definitely wasn't the "Carly" type…was Carly _his_ type? That Valerie girl…she looked kinda like Carly, didn't she? Her heart sped up at the sudden realization but she pushed the thought to the very back of her brain. It didn't matter. She didn't care.

No one seemed to be treating her any differently as she strolled through the Ridgeway hallway and she was excited until she remembered that none of them knew. They seemed like zombies to her, all blissfully unaware of the hurricane she was standing in while they all enjoyed their blue skies. She felt incredibly self-conscious and moved quickly through the zombies, her eyes were peeled for a brunette head of any kind, determined to avoid her two friends at all costs.

"Hey Sam," came the call from Gibby as she passed him.

She threw him a distracted glance over her shoulder as she responded, "Hi Gibby."

His usual smile faded into a look of confusion as he moved to follow her down the hall. "Wait, 'hi Gibby?' Where did that come from? No nerd jokes? My mom picked out this shirt…don't you have anything to say about it?"

She rolled her eyes as she tried to scan the hallway around him. "Um…nice shirt." She moved fast, leaving him behind, and headed toward her locker.

"Nice shirt?" she heard him call out in frustration from behind her, but she didn't turn around.

She moved quickly at her locker, twisting the lock like she was trying to deactivate a bomb. If there was anywhere she would run into one of them, it would be her locker. She didn't have much time; her fingers shook as the finally felt the tumblers inside of the door swing into motion, allowing her to open the locker at last. She frantically pulled her science book out of her backpack and exchanged it with her history book. History was shoved into her bag, the bag was zipped up, and the locker was slammed shut.

And there, previously hidden by the locker door was Carly Shay. "Sam!"

Sam screamed out of surprise, before she caught herself and instantly fell into routine. "Carls, hey. You scared me." She casually threw her backpack over one shoulder and started to walk away.

"No, no, no! No walking away…" Carly's hand caught Sam's elbow and pulled her reluctantly backward. "I want to talk about this."

Sam turned to face her best friend whose eyes were wide with anticipation. She was expecting some kind of big, grand, heartfelt explanation and Sam, horrified beyond belief, couldn't think of one, nor did she feel like giving one.

"Talk about what?" The words came out before she could even think, confusing her as much as they clearly confused Carly, whose face was now twisted with suspicion.

"What do you mean 'what?' You know what I mean, Sam!"

"Ummm, no? Please enlighten me." Carly just stared.

What was she doing? Pretending like it didn't happen? That wasn't her plan; she didn't even have a plan! But, at the moment, it seemed like a good one. She kept going: "Hey, can I copy your science homework later? I totally forgot about it." Nerves screaming inside of her, she patted Carly on the arm before pushing past her, headed for her history class.

"Sam!" Carly called out from behind her, frustration and confusion in her voice.

"Carly!" she turned to yell back, shaking her head with false laughter. "Get a grip, kid! I'll get your homework at lunch, okay?"

She turned back around to keep walking, but when she did, she collided with _him_. Of course.

"Hey…Sam." His eyes were even wider than Carly's had been and his hands immediately went into his pockets. "Sorry…for bumping into you, I mean. I'm really sorry for bumping into you."

She felt her own eyes expand, but quickly blinked it away. She was tempted to say something, to abandon her stupid plan and ask if he hated her now, but she couldn't. She just couldn't. Sam Puckett had never been one to back down from a challenge, but she had never been up against one like this before. Once again, the words came out without her having a chance to think about it: "Ugh, chill, Fredward, it's no big. Just watch where you're going next time, nerd."

His brow furrowed in even more confusion than Carly's had and Sam rolled her eyes. As casually as possible, she swung the other strap of her backpack over her free arm and moved past him. "See ya."

"Sam!" his voice sounded panicked as he called out to her. She hesitated for a split second, panicking, before she remembered her plan and turned to face him.

"What up?"

"Are…I mean, are you okay?" her stomach felt weird at the expression of genuine concern on his face and she was almost half-way tempted to tell him the truth. But she was Sam Puckett and she did not get butterflies.

She scoffed with fake laughter once again and raised an eyebrow, feigning confusion. "I'm fine, Benson. I think the real question is are _you_ okay?" She shook her head before turning the corner, taking in a solid breath for the first time since she had opened her locker. She had made it to the promised land of the next hallway, but not without seeing Freddie's eyes narrow at her.

She sighed out loud as she sunk into her seat at the very back of the classroom. The plan she had never planned on was now in full swing; she would just go with it. How hard could it be, really? IF she kept it up, surely her two best friends would just take the hint. Well, Freddie would at least. She had no doubt that he was just as eager to put the entire thing behind them as she was. Carly might take some extra time and convincing, but Freddie…Freddie, she was sure, would gladly join in on her unplanned plan.

Her breath coming a little easier now, thanks to her self-reassurance, she leaned over to her left, pulling her history book out of her bag. When she sat up again, slamming the book down onto her desk, someone was in the seat next to her, which usually sat empty. Normally, she wasn't up for making new friends in the world's most boring class but, out of sheer curiosity, she glanced to see who it was.

"Freddie?" she cursed her voice for being so high-pitched and revealing her nerves. Her eyes went wide again and this time she couldn't blink it away. "What are…you're not in this class!"

Freddie kicked one leg up to rest on the knee of the other, a smug look on his face. "Of course I am."

"No…no…no, you're not!" She suddenly found herself on the verge of hyperventilating and she clenched her fists. Why was he doing this? Why was he just sitting there, staring at her like a nub_? Why wasn't he going along with the plan?_ "You're…not in this class!" She couldn't formulate any better comebacks.

"Yes," he leaned toward her, "I am. Why don't you want me to be here, Sam?" he raised an eyebrow at her accusingly and she knew exactly what he was doing. That nub. He wouldn't win. Sam Puckett didn't lose. Especially not to nubs.

"You're such a liar," she glared at him.

He crossed his arms and glared back, "Takes one to know one." Hurt was evident in his voice and his eyes, and she felt her face drop.

"Good morning, class!" Mr. Andersen yelled from the front of the classroom.

It took her a few seconds of trying, but she finally peeled her eyes from Freddie. When she did, she was back in reality and her hand shot into the air.

"Yes, Miss, uh, Puckett, isn't it?" Half-blind Mr. Andersen adjusted his coke-bottle glasses as he stared back at her.

"Freddie's not in this class!" her arm moved from the air sideways, to point at Freddie who gasped.

"Yes I am!" he yelled convincingly. She cursed him under her breath.

"No. He's not." Her voice was hard and serious. "Jared, has Freddie ever been in this class before?"

The boy in the seat in front of Freddie's turned to face the bickering pair, confusion in his eyes. "Benson, I don't think I've ever seen you in here before, man."

"Jared," Freddie's voice was calm and believable, "who are you gonna believe?"

Sam's jaw dropped and she narrowed her eyes at Freddie as Jared nervously looked back and forth between the two of them. Freddie sat still, seeming perfectly content.

"Eh, Benson's probably right."

She couldn't believe it. She threw Jared her best death glare, but he was already turning around in his seat. Freddie put both of his hands out in an "I-told-you-so" fashion and Mr. Andersen nodded.

"It's settled then," Mr. Andersen called out from the front, "Freddie will stay."

Freddie swiveled to face Sam in his chair, smirking. Her heart started to race and it drove her crazy knowing that his was probably beating perfectly in rhythm, just like everything in his perfect little life. She positioned herself away from him and stared at the ceiling, still feeling his eyes on her. Class drug on forever, that jerk staring at her and her uneven heartbeats pounding in her ears, throughout. She couldn't hear a word poor Mr. Andersen said, not that she cared. When the bell rang, she bolted, and was out the door before it had even finished, leaving Freddie in her dust.

And so went the next week and a half: Freddie trying relentlessly to get Sam's attention and Sam determined to give him as little as possible. He stopped sitting in on her history class, but it didn't matter because they had third period science together. He sat by her before…the incident…but now he stared her down through the entire 55 minutes class period. And she ignored him. Carly pressed the issue at least a hundred times a day, but she ignored her, toe, and eventually she gave up. Freddie, however, seemed a little more determined.

That Monday, he sat next to her at lunch and walked beside her during every passing period. Tuesday, he offered her gum six times at a pep assembly and she turned it down five times before finally giving in. She showed up to science fifteen minutes late on Wednesday only to find that he had covered for her. She didn't thank him. He picked up her books on Thursday when they all fell out of her unzipped backpack that she thought was zipped. She told him to stop treating her like a nub, her arms worked fine. On Friday she told him his shoe was untied. He looked at her like she was a unicorn or something before he said _thanks_ and bent over to tie it. She walked away without a word while he was down.

The following Monday he held the door for her. She shoved past him without a glance. Tuesday brought a thunderstorm and he offered her his umbrella while she waited for her mom after school. She turned him down but he held it over her anyway. _Whatever, _she replied and he sighed.

On Wednesday, Mrs. Prim assigned them as lab partners and her heart dropped. Her fears seemed to be unnecessary though, because he was silent as they stood at the lab table, waiting to be instructed on what to do next. He didn't ask any annoying questions or drop any "subtle" hints. He just stood, staring at the chalkboard. It was weird. They always talked and she found herself shifting her weight awkwardly from foot to foot. She looked over at him at least six times, but he stayed silent. He was silent as they pulled the petri dishes out of the drawer. He was silent as he flipped the microscope light on. He was silent as they took turns looking through it, writing down their answers.

She looked at him again and this time he looked back. She held his gaze for half a second before she looked down at her hands. Her heart beat fast as she heard him scoff.

"You're a wimp, you know that?"

She glared at her hands, still refusing to look up at him. "What?"

"You're a wimp!" his voice was louder now, but still quieter than the rest of the class, laughing and talking around them. "You're so scared you can't even look me in the eye."

Her fear was pushed down to her feet and she glared at him, looking him dead in the eyes for the first time since she had kissed him. "There. Now shut up, Benson, before I make you swallow your teeth."

He rolled his eyes. "Is that supposed to be impressive? Congratulations." He turned back to his worksheet.

This wasn't Freddie; he wasn't mean like this. Freddie was sweet, and understanding, and patient, and just a nice guy. That's why she was so fond of him, as much as it pained her to admit it. He wasn't mean and aggressive; he didn't push people who didn't want to be pushed. She was slightly shocked at this Freddie; she didn't like this one. But then she remembered her thought from earlier in the week…how far could she push him without him giving up? Was this him giving up? Maybe he was pushing back. She panicked as she felt hot tears sting the backs of her eyes.

"You're such a jerk!" she heard herself say before she could stop it.

"Maybe!" he faced her again. "But at least I'm not a coward."

"I'm not a coward!" she shouted back, glancing around, amazed that no one in the classroom seemed to notice the argument occurring between them.

"Really?" he shook his head and glanced at the clock behind her. He then started to gather his belongings and she glanced at the clock, too. Class was almost over. _Thank God…_

"Own up to your shit, Sam. You're a coward." He said bitterly, shoving his science book into his bag.

"And you're a jerk." She said, shoving her own book into her own bag.

"You're ridiculous."

"You're annoying."

"And you're—" he stopped short, noticing exactly what Sam was noticing. They were standing much too close, even closer than they had when she kissed him. She willed her legs to back her up, away from him, but they wouldn't budge. It was like somehow the link between her brain and the rest of her body had been cut and all she could do was stand there helplessly, much too close for comfort. They stared at each other blankly; she could count the green specks in his brown eyes. She blinked twice, swallowed once, and took a shaky breath.

"I'm what?" Her own voice surprised her. It came out as a whisper, but still with an edge of bitterness.

He didn't answer immediately, he just kept staring. His eyes flickered to her mouth, then back to her eyes. Over and over, he moved his eyes back and forth and she almost thought he was going to kiss her.

"Really Pretty." He finally finished his thought with a deep breath and took a step backwards.

She heard her breath hitch in her throat and hoped that he hadn't. Everything was too much and she forced her legs to carry her backwards, finally reconnecting brain with body. They kept staring for what seemed like years before the bell finally rang, shrill and blaring right above their heads. It seemed to shock him because he jerked his head upward to look at it. She took the opportunity to run, run like her life depended on it. When he looked back down, she was gone.

He glanced at the door, but she was nowhere to be found. He jerked his bag off of the ground and ran out of the classroom. He turned in a circle, surveying his surroundings, looking for any trace of wild, blonde curls. When he finally caught sight of her, he knew it was too late. She was pushing past Gibby and a red-headed girl, running like crazy for the stairs. Exasperated, he threw his bag over his shoulder and stuck his hands into his pockets.

"Coward."


	4. Wrong

She didn't normally look fragile, so seeing her that way surprised him. She was the tough one in the relationship, not him. Yet, there she was, sitting Indian-style in the grass, looking frustrated at the algebra book that sat open in her lap. Not that anything was particularly "fragile" about a girl struggling to understand her algebra homework, but she looked different. She was all alone and the walls of tough insincerity that she usually surrounded herself with were down as she huffed and crossed her arms, unaware that anyone was paying her any mind.

He watched as she rolled her eyes and crumpled the paper she had been writing on into a small ball. She shoved the ball of paper into her backpack and pulled out a fresh sheet. Wrinkled from being smashed in her bag, she smoothed it out over her book, then closed her eyes. She let out a long, deep breath, and he wondered what she was thinking about, what went through Sam Puckett's mind when she was actually attempting to remain calm. She stayed silent and still for a long time and his eyes didn't move from her, analyzing everything about her because she was endlessly confusing and he may never see her this serene again. Then, in an instant she opened her eyes again, picked up her pencil, and hunched over to write. It was weird, seeing Sam try to be productive.

He realized that he was now much closer to her than he had been before and figured he must have been walking. He kept moving until he stood directly in front of her.

Her hand, which had been scribbling furiously, stopped moving and she glanced at his feet, her head coming slightly up from her paper. He knew that she could tell it was him by the way her jaw tightened. He tightened his own in response. She put her head down even lower than before and went back to her studies. The walls were back up.

He stood in awkward silence; they hadn't spoken since the day before during their "you're a coward-you're a jerk" argument and he wasn't sure what to say next. Sam never ignored him after they fought; she usually just punched him, or gave him a wet willy, or poured her drink in his lap…some sort of violent outburst and the argument was behind them, never to be brought up again. That was one of many things they had in common, one of the many things he liked about her: she wasn't a grudge-holder. But this time was different. Maybe he had gone too far, maybe he had really hurt the great Sam Puckett's feelings. That was what he had been afraid of from the beginning.

He didn't want this. He just wanted her to kick him in the shin, or pants him, or something, anything. That was how they worked, Sam and Freddie. As crazy as it sounds, her torture let him know that she semi-cared. She didn't pick on anyone else the way that she did him, whether he liked it or not. And she certainly didn't smile and wink at anyone else after she punched them in the gut. He just wanted her to hit him. He found himself desperately wishing she would simply reach up and sock him one in the face. He wanted everything to go back to normal. He wanted his best friend back.

A few more seconds passed until he couldn't stand it, and he said the only thing he could think of to ease the tension: "Need some help?"

Her pencil stopped moving once again and her back began to rise and fall more slowly than before as she seemed to seriously consider his question. At long last, she groaned and held her paper up to him, her eyes still on the book in her lap. Grateful for the interaction, he took it and sat down next to her.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes as he studied the paper, trying to make sense of the numbers Sam had written all over it. Finally he saw the problem and leaned closer to her so he could point it out. She leaned away.

"On line four," he began, and she reluctantly leaned closer to look at the number he was pointing to, "you didn't carry the three. That's what threw you off, everything after that is messed up. It should be…" he paused, working out a solution in his head, "94, not 103."

She grabbed the paper away from him and narrowed her eyes at it, like she didn't believe him. She ran her finger along the numbers, pausing ever so often to add in her head. Finally she clicked her tongue behind her teeth and started to erase.

"Sam." He didn't know where he was going, but he had to try. "Sam, can we just talk?"

She ignored him, erasing frantically.

"Sam."

"No!" she yelled, still not looking at him.

"No?"

"I didn't stutter, did I? I don't want to talk about…it."

"Well I do, Sam! What do you think I've been trying to do for the last week and a half? I want to talk about it, Sam!"

"Well, too bad."

"So that's it, then? _You_ don't want to talk about it so we're done?"

"That's the way it's lookin'…"

He sighed and leaned against the tree behind them. Of course; why had he expected anything different? He knew her. Sam wasn't one to just pour her heart out. "Can _I_ just talk, then?"

She blew on the paper, sending eraser shavings flying through the air like snow flurries. And then her pencil was back down, starting over. "No one's stopping you, Benson. You're already talking my ear off."

"Fair enough. Will you listen?"

"We'll see."

He took the opportunity; this was probably as good as it was gonna get. At least she was acknowledging him. "Sam…I thought…I mean, I thought…" Great. He finally had his chance to talk, what he'd wanted to do all along, and he couldn't get anything worthwhile to come out. Her pencil was still scribbling number after number.

"I thought it was Brad, Sam. I mean, I was _prepared_ for it to be Brad. I wasn't…I wasn't prepared for it to be me, I wasn't…I wasn't ready for that, you know?"

"Well, surprise." She said quietly and bitterly, still writing.

"Don't." he replied. "Don't be like that."

"Like what?" her pencil had stopped moving, but her eyes were still on her paper.

"Don't be sarcastic and hateful! I'm trying to have a real conversation here, okay? Can we maybe do that? For _once_ in our entire relationship can we have a semi-serious conversation?"

He waited for a response but none came. She was still for a long while, her pencil resting against her paper, halfway through making a number '5.' For a moment, he thought she might comply and engage in the conversation that he so desperately wanted to have, but just as quickly as the thought had come, it vanished. Her pencil was back to moving and she was back to ignoring him. "Sam, just—"

"Hey!" a voice called out from in front of them. Both of their heads turned to see Brad, walking in their direction. "What's up, guys?" Speak of the devil…

"Hi, Brad!" Sam's voice was chipper, but tired. She grinned at him and he grinned back.

Freddie's stomach turned. Why? "What's up, Brad?"

"Hey…uh, I kinda need some help putting the finishing touches on our project." He shifted awkwardly, looking only at Freddie.

"Oh, yeah! Of course!" Freddie grabbed his bag and stood immediately, feling awful for leaving Brad to finish the project all on his own. "Come on, Sam."

Sam began to gather her things, closing her book over the paper she'd just been scribbling on, and unzipping her bag. But Brad spoke again.

"Oh, no! I mean, um, Sam doesn't have to come." Brad stumbled through the sentence and Freddie raised an eyebrow at him.

"What…what do you mean? She's part of our group."

"That would actually be awesome!" Sam's voice rang out from the ground as she stopped short of putting her book and paper back into her bag. "This assignment is already three days late and Miss Briggs told me she not gonna take it unless I turn it in by tomorrow." She shook her head and rolled her eyes, like Miss Briggs wanting the assignment turned in was ridiculous. Freddie tried to hide his smile. "I kinda need to get it done…"

"Of course, it's no problem!" Brad said happily. "We'll let you know how the project goes, okay? Come on, Freddie! We're leaving now!" he turned and started to walk toward the school, Freddie following in confusion.

Brad was quiet as he hit the PearPad screen over and over. Freddie was quiet as he unpacked his laptop and plugged the cord into the electrical socket on the back wall.

Freddie watched him curiously for a while, pretending to set up his laptop. He wasn't quite sure why Brad hadn't wanted Sam to accompany them; maybe he didn't like her or something...Freddie, of all people, knew that she could be...well, difficult. And Brad didn't exactly seem like the toughest of kids. But he'd always seemed to be on good terms with Sam…he liked her guacamole and laughed at her jokes. Maybe she had said something while they were alone the other night. Maybe she had punched him or something. It didn't seem entirely impossible. "Brad, are you okay, man?"

Brad's head instantly jerked toward Freddie and his eyes went wide. "Yeah, yeah…of course I am! Why?"

"I don't know, you just…seemed weird or nervous out there…something going on?"

"No, no…nothing. I'm totally cool." Brad said, nodding profusely and turning his attention back to the PearPad.

"Alright, man." Freddie shook his head and turned back to his computer, deciding he would actually work this time.

A few more moments passed with no sound besides the dull hum of the technological devices around them and the clicking of the laptop keys. Freddie, fully wrapped up in his work didn't notice Brad's nervous glances around the room. Brad was the one to break the silence.

"Hey, uh, Freddie?" he asked, sounding nervous.

"Yeah?" Freddie responded, not looking up from his laptop. Brad's semi-meltdown wasn't fazing him.

"You and Sam are like, really good friends, right?"

"Um, yeah. We are." Freddie's fingers were still, balanced on the keys while he finally looked at Brad. He half expected him to admit his complete hatred for her and ask Freddie to remove her from their project group.

"So, you…you like, know her really well, right?"

"Um, I mean, I guess you could say that." Freddie racked his brain for possibilities, no idea where this conversation was going. Why was Brad suddenly interested in Freddie's relationship with Sam?

"So, you would know if she like, _liked_ someone, right?" Brad's eyes went sideways for a split second to glance out the window to where Sam sat, still trying to finish her algebra. And then Freddie understood.

"No!" The word came out louder than he had intended and it startled even him. Brad looked at him with wide eyes and Freddie concentrated on bringing his voice down several notches. " I mean, no. Um, she really wouldn't tell _me_ something like _that_…I mean, not that we're not best friends! Because we are, we totally are. Like, _best_ friends. We're really, really close." Freddie found himself awkwardly stuffing his hands into his pockets and shifting from left to right.

Brad liked Sam? Freddie's stomach knotted as he realized just how wrong his expectations for this conversation had been. He and Carly had been right all along, but about the wrong person.

"Awesome." Brad said. Freddie fumed. Why was it awesome? He saw nothing awesome about this situation.

"Since you're so close…do you think you could maybe drop my name into a conversation somewhere…see how she feels about me?"

Freddie was stunned. He felt his heartbeat speed up and his mouth was suddenly dry. What was wrong with him? He let his own eyes move out the window as well to see Sam, in the same position he had left her in: she ran a frustrated hand through her hair and erased some more. He had the overwhelming urge to abandon the project and run to help her. "Yeah, I could try, I guess." He spoke through clenched teeth, but Brad didn't seem to notice. He was already moving toward the window.

"You like…you like Sam?" Freddie moved away from his computer.

"Well, yeah!" Brad answered like it was obvious and turned to face him.

"Why?" Freddie asked, his voice high and anxious.

"Well, she's really fun!" Freddie knew that. "And hilarious." Freddie knew that. "And she's actually pretty smart." Freddie knew that. "She's got a killer smile." Freddie knew that. "And she's really sweet when she wants to be." Freddie knew that, too. But how did Brad know that? He didn't know her, not the way that Freddie did.

Brad wasn't there to see her first job, or her first trip to the dentist, or her first boyfriend. Brad wasn't there when she ran away from her mom's house after a huge fight. Brad wasn't there to help put Sam and Carly's friendship back together. Brad hadn't been there for any of that stuff, but Freddie had. He'd had a front-row seat to everything in her life; he knew everything about her, all the crazy, messy, hysterical details. Brad knew nothing. Brad wasn't her first kiss, Freddie was. The PearPad app hadn't said she loved Brad, it said she loved—

He stopped himself before he went any further, his breath catching in his throat at the thought that had just passed through his head. Why was he so upset? He didn't own her. She wasn't his. But she certainly wasn't Brad's either. And she shouldn't be; no, she definitely shouldn't be Brad's. Even though Brad might be good for her…maybe he would calm her down, or make her focus on school more, or…maybe Freddie could just deck him and it would all be over with. That sounded like the best plan to him at the moment.

He sat down on a stool near the wall and ran a hand through his hair. Maybe Carly was right. Maybe he did like Sam. Why not? Besides the fact that the two of them being together might rip a hole in the space-time-continuum, it wasn't too terribly odd. He _did_ know her. And she knew him. And they had fun together, believe it or not. Carly was often required as the mediator, but they could be civil on their own, too. She made him laugh and he provided her an outlet for her violent tendencies. Maybe, through all of the crap, they would work. Maybe they kinda fit after all. Maybe that's why he was so miserable with her shutting him out…maybe they needed each other.

Maybe he….maybe nothing. He rolled his eyes in frustration and stopped all of his thinking. Sam always told him that he thought too much and she was usually right. He had no clue what was happening here, this situation was beyond him. He was analytical, no good with matters of the heart.

"She's really wrapped up in that algebra, huh?" Brad laughed, looking at her through the window like she was his already.

"Yeah…" Freddie spoke slowly, realizing a sudden pain in his hands. He looked down as he unclenched his fists to see four tiny crescent-moon indentions that his fingernails had made in his palms.


	5. Ruined

She had always found pedicures to be exceedingly awkward. Why would anyone want to touch someone else's feet? They were gross. What a gross job. The petite woman sitting at her feet didn't seem to think so, though, because she was rubbing lotion onto her feet and chatting in a foreign language with the woman next to her like it was no biggie. Sam, however, thought it was indeed a biggie. A person touching her feet was weird, just weird, whether she's getting paid for it or not.

She held her hands out in front of her to admire her freshly painted pink and sparkly nails, subtly blocking her view of the pedicurist. It was at least the fourth time she'd done so since it started. She hated every second of the awkward foot-makeover. She always agreed to them, though. Carly had this insane idea that they needed a "girl's day" once a month and, unfortunately, mani-pedi's always seemed to be included. Today was no different.

Carly seemed totally comfortable with the woman at her feet. She was leaned back in the chair, eyes closed, hands folded in her lap, completely content. That was just Carly. Of course she was fine with it, it was girly, and pretty, and fabulous. Of course Sam thought it was awkward…she wasn't girly or pretty like Carly. Carly was like, perfect. Sam was…difficult. Nothing was difficult for Carly.

She should be more like Carly. A lot more. She'd always felt that way, secretly wished she could be more like her best friend. She'd always looked at Carly as exactly what a girl should be: girly, and pretty, and graceful, and kind, and all that other crap. _He_ looked at her that way, too. He had always been in love with her. He probably still was. The thought brought a knot of pain into her stomach. Yes. She should definitely be more like Carly.

Sam leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes and trying to look as relaxed as Carly did. She managed to hold the position for about 3 and a half seconds before it was just too awkward and she sat forward and held out her hands again.

The women at their feet spoke almost simultaneously and held out two nail polish bottles: one that contrasted the color on each girls nails, and one that matched it perfectly. Sam's first instinct was to pick the contrasting color, a bright turquoise. But she stopped short of making her choice and glanced over at Carly. Smiling, she pointed to the color that matched her candy apple red fingernails. Imitating Carly's smile, Sam pointed to the sparkling pink that matched her own.

When their toes were painted and dried, and their hands full with ice cream cones, they sat on two swings in the park.

"Soo…what do you wanna do now?" Carly asked casually as they swung.

"I dunno," Sam replied through a mouth full of ice cream. "What do you wanna do?"

"Hmm…" She pretended to be thinking hard, but Sam could tell with no trouble that Carly had already chosen their next activity long before she had asked the question. "Maybe we could juuuusssttt…talk."

Sam's stomach began to twist inside of her. "Okay, shoot." She licked her ice cream.

"Hmm…" Carly once again pretended to be giving thought to what she was going to say. Sam rolled her eyes. She knew exactly what Carly would say.

"How long have you liked Freddie?" Whether she was prepared for it or not, the question slapped Sam across the face, Carly's voice shrill and panicked.

Her toes curled, as she contemplated how to answer her friend, and she admired how perfectly they were painted. She didn't have a lot of perfect things and the polish on her toes made her heart feel sort of content. "I don't—"

"Don't!" Carly yelled. "Don't try to tell me you don't like him because I know you do and you know it, too. I saw you kiss him, Sam! Why can't you just be straight up with me?"

"I wasn't going to say I don't like him!" Sam yelled back, but her voice quickly turned quiet. "I was going to say I don't know." It was the truth. She was going to be honest with her best friend. "It just kinda…happened. I don't know. It's stupid." Her feet kicked at the dirt and she panicked, thinking her perfect polish might be ruined.

"It's not. It's not stupid, Sam!" Carly reached out to link Sam's arm with her own and their swings moved side to side in unison. "It makes sense, y'know? Freddie is good to you: he's sweet, and he's patient, and he laughs at your horrible jokes. He's good _for_ you."

"Whatever," came Sam's response.

"No 'whatever,'" Carly said. "Sam…what are you guys gonna do now?"

Sam answered honestly the only way she knew how: she shrugged. What _were_ they gonna do now? They were barely speaking. When they did talk, it usually just ended in yelling and Sam running away like a little kid. Forget what were they gonna do…what _were_ they now? Friends? Frenemies? Nothing? Where did they stand?

Maybe she had been avoiding the question all this time because she knew. She knew what she felt and she knew what she was capable of…they couldn't just be friends, not now. She was avoiding _him_ because she knew. She knew that if he said he just wanted to stay friends, then she would have to walk away. She was tough, but not that tough. She couldn't face that. She couldn't be that big of a person.

And if she walked away, it would ruin everything. iCarly, their trio…probably her and Carly's friendship, too. It would ruin everything. She had ruined everything.

"Sam…" Carly's voice was barely audible as she unhooked her arm from Sam's. "He _really_ wants to talk to you. You can't ignore him forever!"

"Who says?" Sam's own voice was barely a whisper, but Carly heard.

"I do! Will you talk to him? Please. For me. For iCarly." She looked at Sam like she felt bad for her or something and Sam's fists clenched. She hated being pitied.

She got up from the swing and started to stomp away.

"Sam!" Carly called after her and she stopped, but didn't turn around. "Forget iCarly, okay? Forget me, and Spencer, and Gibby, and everything…talk to him for _you_! I told you, I just want you to be happy. I don't care…I just…I want you to be happy."

"I'm happy!" Sam cried, whirling around to face her.

"Sam…" Carly said, the sadness in her voice matched only by the sadness in her face. Sam resented it. She resented how right Carly was. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

"It's whatever," she said, stomping away, leaving Carly with nothing but a half-eaten ice cream cone.

Carly's face haunted her for the rest of the weekend. As much as she tried, she couldn't shake the feeling that Carly was right. And it consumed her.

Lying in bed that night, it was all she could see: her best friend's face, sad but knowing, implying what everyone knew but was too afraid to say because they didn't want to get punched, or pants-ed, or otherwise publically humiliated…Sam wasn't happy. And she resented them all.

The next day at school she ignored Freddie, as usual, and he ignored her back. They didn't sit next to each other at lunch, he didn't pick up her pen when it fell off of her desk in biology, he didn't walk next to her during the passing periods. She stuck to Carly like glue and Freddie stuck with Gibby. It was odd, the awkward silences that enveloped the usually chatty four of them whenever they found themselves all together; Gibby, still clueless as to the source of the awkwardness, feigned attempts at making jokes to fill the silence, but Carly cast nervous glances between Sam and Freddie all day.

Between the last two classes of the day, just after she had slammed her locker shut and started toward the stairs, they collided. Freddie was running, to where, she had no idea, and smacked straight into her. The force sent her flying to the floor, her Algebra book sailing through the air to who knows where, and the three blue ink pens in her hand, clattering against the lockers.

It took her a moment to gather her wits but when she did, she looked to her left to see Freddie staring at her, mouth gaping, apparently just as shocked as she was. "I'm so sorry." He frantically gathered his own books, Sam still sitting in shock, and then moved to pick up her scattered belongings as well. "Really, I am sorry! I didn't even see you, I swear. Man, I was going to be late for class…well, I'll be even later now…I'm really sorry, Sa….Sam."

She stared up at him, more weirdness brewing in her stomach. He had stopped short of finishing her name as if saying it caused him some sort of physical pain. And it made her mad. She had no right to be mad, she knew that, she wasn't completely illogical. But she was mad anyway. He extended his hand, offering to help her up, and she simply stared at it, hanging there in a gesture of peace. After days of ignoring one another, this was big. He could have gathered his belongings in awkward silence, then simply ran away, like she half wished that he would have, but he didn't. He was there, offering her a truce, trying his hardest to fix things, as much as they could be fixed. It was only a hand, but it all felt strangely, and lamely, symbolic, as she sat there on the floor; would she take the hand or not? The time had come to make a choice.

In one quick movement, she pushed herself up off of the ground, grabbed her Algebra book out of his other hand, and turned away from him to shove it into her book bag as the bell rang, signaling that they were both officially late.

She took her time, pretending to arrange the contents of her bag carefully, although all it contained was a book, some scratch paper, and a few paperclips, and zipped it up as slowly as humanly possible, all in an attempt to avoid turning around to face him. Her ears were fine-tuned to listen for his retreating footsteps so she could breathe freely again, but they didn't come. He didn't move.

So she whipped around, careful to look as confident and unshaken as possible, her signature Puckett scowl etched upon her face. And there he stood, looking more unsure and shaken than she'd ever seen him, his left hand extended, offering her the three blue ink pens that she had lost in the fall. And for a moment, she felt her scowl fall; for a moment, she just wanted to hug him and say she was sorry because he just looked so lost and she felt so awful. But she didn't. She scowled harder and ripped the pens from his hand, turning again to shove them into her bag.

And he laughed. Her heart stopped when she heard it and she whirled around to face him again, fists clenched in anger that he was finding humor in this. But his face didn't look remotely humored; he looked bitter, and sarcastic, and angry. And suddenly she realized that the laugh hadn't been a happy one at all. It had been broken.

His eyes, dead, but still shining with hurt raked over he once and she shifted awkwardly from self-consciousness. Her scowl fell and he picked it up.

"Right…" he averted his eyes and nodded his head, turning away from her and stomping off toward his class. She, however, didn't turn to leave, but stood her ground, staring after him as he pushed the double doors open to enter the next hallway. And then he was gone.

Eyes still glued to the door through which he had just left, she clutched her Algebra book to her chest, as if it would somehow cover up the gaping hole she now felt, but quickly brought it back to her side, knowing she had probably looked like one of those lame chicks in those stupid, sappy, romantic movies. But the hole was too much and she brought the book back up, clinging to it for dear life, as the terrible sensation of ruin washed over her: she had made the wrong choice.


End file.
